Teachers confess the strangest things they've confiscated in class.

It was December or January and we were having one of those lockdowns where the police come in with dogs to sniff for substances.

We were all locked in our classroom and no students were allowed out, even to visit the restroom.

One of my students was about as white as a ghost and very afraid.

I asked him what's the matter, but it was so

obvious he was afraid he was about to get busted. He said, do you think the dogs will go to my locker? And I said, I don't know. Do you have something to be worried about? And he said, there's a ham and cheese sandwich in there. I scratched my head a bit. I'm sure it's no problem to have a sandwich. and he said, yeah, but it's been in there since September.

Eyeballs. I'm sure it's no problem to have a sandwich. And he said, yeah, but it's been in there since

September. Eyeballs. I worked with a blind student with autism. When he'd get angry, he'd pop out his

glass eyeballs and throw them across the room. They were expensive, so his mum asked that we put

them in a plastic bag in his backpack if he threw them. No more eyeballs for you today.

My grandpa had a glass eye. He'd rub it and exclaim, oh, I think I've got something in my eye. And he'd pop it out

and say, can you check it for me while thrusting it towards you? Instant pudding. My student was

mixing it in a large cool-wit container using milk milk from lunch right in the middle of a lesson on

Macbeth.

I'm a parent rather than a teacher, but I was part of almost eliminating the prize box in my kids' class.

My kids in Kindi. Kindergarten.

I'm friends with a few of the other fathers in her class, and one of the things her class has is a prize box.

If the kids are all on their game for the week, or a kid does something especially good, they get to choose something from the box. It's filled with the kind of stuff you'd find in a blister pack in the dollar store, stuff like a little plastic car, or a bouncy ball, or whatever. Anyway, the kids love it, and the parents supply stuff for it. So one day my kid comes home with a frickin' kazoo from the box. Let me tell you, there's nothing like a six-year-old who's just figured out how a kazoo works while you're trying to work from home. So immediately I fire off an email to my list of fellow fathers asking what absolute madman put kazoo's in the prize box. And then I immediately see that two other people had beaten me to the question already.

One of the guys finally replies back,

He He He. So it was on. I counted with whistles.

Somebody else had this annoying popping thing. And somebody else got the world's worst balsa planes.

So like the second time it flew, it was destined to snap in half and upset your child.

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